By the banks of the Wandle

Through midge clouds see how
Shaking creeper downward grown into
The racing river, makes pulsate
A mass of vegetation.

From nearby fence
The creosote smell
Reminds how
Recent stimuli,
Old memories
As now a face this morning seen
Recalls another.
"Lumpen" says the voice
Of one long dead.

And thoughts of death that force
Concepts of value
When mental pain
Negates all value.

But hope of consolation
From this fast current
Drifting tufts of grass
To link with earlier selves
Earlier efforts to link up
With yet earlier aspiration
Marred by mawk.
The bad man
Who has no music
The child, the schoolboy
The young man
Approached by one
Who cared about something
Or other, resenting
Something in my presentation.

Discard nothing.
Anxiety and hypertension
The water weed
The strong distinctive muddy smell
Of this fast moving water
Grandparents &
Yet unborn
Places gone to regularly
For a season, years ago.
The quality recalled,
As of that face
In that encounter.

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